
LEN BRAINERD FECm 




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COP^lJlGHT DEPOSIT. 



Songs by the Sedges 



BY 



ELLEN BRAINERD PECK 




^ARTl ct V6RITATI: 



BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1905 



Copyright 1905 by ELLEN Brainerd Peck 
All Rights Reserved 



[LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received 

FEB 5 1906 
^LAss gj^ 



£1 






Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U. S. A. 



TO MY MOTHER 
MARY DUFFIELD PECK 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Pink Hedge-Rose 9 

Contentment lO 

The Virginia Reel 1 1 

An Old Brocade I2 

To-night 13 

The Birds 13 

The Herb Garden 15 

The Golden Rod 16 

At Noon Tide 16 

The Path 17 

The Old Fire Place 18 

-The Spinet 19 

The Garden 20 

The Dreams \ 20 

A Memory 21 

At Five O'clock 21 

Spring's Carnival 23 

Violet 23 

My Grandfather s Scrap-Book 24 

The Light-Ship 26 

Where Fields Lie White 27 

Roses 27 

A Picture 28 

The Charm 29 

Snow Fancies 30 

The Garden I Love Best 31 

A Lullaby 32 

A Lullaby 32 

A Lullaby 34 

The Coming of the Shepherds 35 

Peggy's Kerchief 37 

My Lady 38 

A Love Song 39 

Night 40 

A Moon-Beam 41 

A New Year Song 42 

5 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Chole 43 

Phyllis 44 

A Pinch of Snuff 45 

Her Garden 4^ 

IVill Shakespeare 47 

The Early Mist 48 

A Garden 49 

Her Ruff 50 

An Old Song 51 

Rose Bush Lane 52 

Old Songs 53 

^Tis Evening 54 

November 55 

A Letter from Theress 56 

Fairyland 57 

Dorothy 58 

The Minuet 59 

The Chafing Dish 60 

My Lady's Shoes 61 

The Evening Star 62 

An Autumn Song 62 

Rosemary 63 

The Gypsey Rose 64 

A Puritan 65 

A Request 66 

A Valentine 67 

~^'Old China 68 

Bitter-Sweet 69 

J^espertime 70 

Fall Tide 71 

Melodies 72 

Mistress Mary's Wedding Apron 73 

The Charter Oak 74 

The Marsh Mallows 75 

Menunketesette River 75 

6 



SONGS BY THE SEDGES 



THE PINK HEDGE-ROSE 

By the wooded pathway 

A blushing blossom grows. 
Its petals open wide 
To the gold noon-tide, 
Blossoming in beauty, 

Where the sunshine flows. 
And it flirteth, aye, it flirteth, 

In many a dainty pose, 
A-tossing on the briar, 

The pink hedge-rose, 

Over fields a-floating 

The summer soft wind blows, 
A-singing o'er the rye. 
Lightly floating by 
Fragrant sunny meadows 

Where the long grass grows ; 
But it lingers, aye, it lingers. 

Just to whisper as it goes 
To its pretty, nodding gossip. 

The pink hedge-rose 

Unto the dewy dawn 

The petals fair unclose, 
But when a silver star 
In the west afar. 
Along the dusking evening 

Its faint light shows. 
Then the flower foldeth, foldeth. 

Silken leaves in sweet repose. 
Drooping dreamily till morning. 

The pink-hedge-rose. 



But sadly soon the wind, 

A-whisper as It goes, 
Across the field and lane 
Win seeking go In vain, 
For a wayside flower, 

The sweetest that it knows ; 
'Twill be sighing, aye, be sighing, 

Where the lonely pathway shows 
Naught of Its pretty gossip. 

The pink hedge-rose. 

CONTENTMENT 

To the world's great noisy highways, 
Here and there, lead quiet by-ways. 

Often are these still roads fairest. 
Paths made fair by blossoms rarest. 

Many o'er the by-ways going. 
Heeding not, pass on unknowing. 

For most sweet, beyond all seeming. 
Blooms a flower, In their dreaming. 

And their eyes looked forward ever, 
Till a road their road doth sever. 

On this highway haste they, drifting 
As the sands on sea-shore shifting. 

Searching, with an anxious longing. 
Where the careless crowds pass thronging. 

Flowerless proves the path and dreary, 
And the tired feet and weary, 

Turning from the mighty highway 
Stray, at peace, along the by-way. 

When, beside the path up-growing, 
Springs the flower, they sought unknowing. 
10 



THE VIRGINIA REEL 

While softly glows the candle-light, 

Adown the dim, wainscoted hall, 
Upon the silver, shimmering bright, 

Of antique candelabras tall, 
In merry eyes it coyly peers, 

The love-lit glances to reveal 
Of happv maids and cavaliers, ^ 

Who dance the old Virginia reel. 

Clad in a gown of ample flow, 

Coquettish patches on the face, 
With powdered hair, as long ago. 

And quaint and pretty air of grace, 
Each tripping maid with lightsome tread, 

In dainty shoes, most high of heel. 
With eyes that laugh and up-tossed head. 

Glides through the old Virginia reel. 

The gleam of mellow candle-light 

Weaves golden meshes of romance, 
And Cupid speeds his arrow's flight 

Amid the mazes of the dance. 
Just as in past colonial years. 

When, to the music's frolic peal. 
The happy maids and cavaliers 

Danced in the old Virginia reel. 



II 



AN OLD BROCADE 

A BALLADE. 

Where stretched the attic rafters brown, 

Mid dusk almost like night, 
A little wrinkled old-time gown 

Was hung away from sight — 
Where wandering sunbeams, like a sprite 

Through gapping crannies strayed, 
To touch into past luster bright 

The faded old brocade. 

The dust of years had sifted down 

Upon its satin white ; 
The sheen, that made its beauty's crown, 

Was dimmed and faded quite; 
Around it, woven left and right. 

The spiders webs had made. 
And tiny scampering mice took fright, 

To see the old brocade — 

The praises at that ball in town, 

Its wearer did invite, 
In famous days of its renown, 

Lives no one to recite; 
When it was at the fashion's height. 

And minuets were played; 
Since then, the years have winged their flight 

Above the old brocade. 

ENVOY. 

Though all forgot its sorry plight, 

Yet stealing sunbeams laid 
Oft times, a soft remembering light 

Upon the old brocade. 
12 



TONIGHT 

I see tonight 

A picture fair — so fair; 
Framed with sweet thoughts, 

Fond memories and rare. 

A twilight sky, 

Still lit with sunset gold, 
A burnished sea, 

A girl I loved of old. 

The gentle winds 

Fan cheeks of rose-like glow, 
Her braided locks 

Toss softly to and fro. 

I moor my boat, 

That swiftly cleft the sea, 
A silver path. 

Betwixt my love and me. 

I lift my eyes — 

Ah dream, though sweet, take flight. 
For she is here, 

I touch her hands tonight. 

THE BIRDS 

The whippoorwill, across the gloom. 
Calls out o'er fragrant gardens' bloom. 
The lonely owl the hush doth mar, 
From steepy, woodland hill afar. 
But thou, oh, little birds of day. 
In restful silence stilly be. 
While soft winds sigh themselves away, 
And stars swim in the dark sky sea. 

13 



Sleep, robin, sleep! 
Hush, bright blue jay! 
Swallow, cease your darting flight! 
Brown sparrow, rest 
Upon your nest! 
For it is night. 

Within the world of men is w^oe. 
And sad thought flieth to and fro. 
It may not bide, glad birds, as thou. 
Upon some leafy, sheltering bough. 
For human kind, on sleep's fair way. 
No surcease from all sorrow seems; 
Thought mocketh rest, and, till the day, 
It w^andereth, on and on, in dreams. 

Sleep, red-bird, sleep! 
Hush, sombre crow! 
Cease, humming bird, your wildering flight! 
Wee wren, brood thou! 
Blackbird, rest now! 
For it is night. 

Oh, little hearts, beneath the wing, 
That tremble at the songs you sing. 
Where heavy care can never lie, 
You are at peace, and know not why. 
Your sweet calls, falling down the air, 
Float where the slumbrous shadows sweep, 
And soft and softer, everywhere. 
They die away in blessed sleep. 

Sleep, robin, sleep! 
Hush, bright blue jay! 
Swallow, cease your darting flight! 
Brown sparrow, rest 
Upon your nest ! 
For it is night. 

14 



THE HERB GARDEN 

On the garden's southern side 

Some old-time simples scent the air; 
Once a house-wife took a pride 

In tending them with watchful care ; 
Oft at work a-weeding there 

Her busy hands flew, to and fro, 
Making all so neat and fair, 

In long summers, years ago. 

'Twas one Mistress Betty Ann, 

With a wise, far-seeing eye. 
Sowed the seeds, with thrifty plan. 

To gather herbs in falls to dry, — 
Fragrant bunches which hung high 

From the rafters long and low. 
Close the dusky fire-place by, 

In the winters, years ago. 

Fine roses fill the garden now 

That once the sweet old roses knew, 
And stalks of gladiolas bow 

Where once the frail day-lilies blew, 
But, as a spirit wandering through 

The winding paths, faint perfumes blow 
From the herbs which Betty grew, 

In long summers, years ago. 

Time has sped since Betty Ann 

Gave the sweet herb garden care, 
But murmuring winds across it fan, 

As if again a voice sang there, ^ 

And small, white hands were wandering where 

They moved, in past days, to and fro, 
Among the purple blossoms fair, 

In long summers, years ago. 
15 



THE GOLDEN ROD 

What time the early cricket trills 

His blithe and cheery roundelay, 
Whose merry, clear-toned chirrup fills 

The dreamful golden-tinted day; 
'Tis then the fields lie golden too. 

With tasseled plumes, that gayly nod. 
When e'er the wild breeze dances through 

The legions of the golden rod. 



AT NOON TIDE 

Beside the brooklet's laughing fall, 
The glossy rushes flash their sheen, 
Around the meadow's stretch of green, 

A-tumble stands the old stone wall. 

Between the stones, lichened and grey, 
In crevices the slim shoots twine, 
Of the wild tangled berry-vine, 

Untutored, roving all astray. 

Here, when the shrill cicada sings, 
Untiring, in the gold-third noon. 
And sleepy mid-day seems acroon. 

With murmurous grass-dwelling things. 

How sweet to lie beside the stream. 

And idly look upon the sky; 

There watch the rifted clouds drift by, 
And not to think, but only dream. 



z6 



THE PATH 

The path that leads to her 
Winds by the old stone wall, 
Where branches look 
Into the brook, 
And berry-vines grow tall ; 

There wild flowers spring 
To blossoming. 
From daisy to the burr, 

So lovely is it, all in all, 
The path that leads to her. 

The path that leads to her 
Is wondrous in the night. 
Where shadows scar. 
And gleam of star. 
Slips down the dusky light, 
Between the trees; 
And melodies 
Rise from the insect whirr. 

While glimpsing fire-flies make more bright 
The path that leads to her. 

The path that leads to her. 
Oh, memory take me there, 
To years I knew. 
When dreams came true. 
And life was sweet and fair ; 
And let me hark. 
Against the dark, 
Her glowing garments stir. 

Along the way close bound with care — 
The path that leads to her. 



17 



THE OLD FIRE-PLACE 

'Twas built in days so long ago, 
This fire-place tall and wide ; 

And no one now can ever know 
Who, in the winter-tide, 
Sat by the warm ingle 
And heard the wind mingle 
With snow and sleet outside. 

Upon the stones now black with time 
Stretches the golden glow, 

The shining flames that redly climb 
Their jagged shadows throw, 
The log's drowsy humming 
In monotone coming 
Sounds weirdly soft and low. 

Along the vistas of the past. 
Faint visions seem to stray. 

The print of many feet is cast 
Upon the hearth-stone grey. 
In dark crannies keeping. 
Dim secrets lie sleeping 
Where watch the stones alway. 

The dreams that come within its light, 
The fire-lit silence fill, 

While shadows flit from out the night 
And steal o'er time's door-sill. 
Through memory's paths, weary 
Come thought-phantoms eerie 
Around us wan and still. 

Amid the night there falls a spell 
Weaved where the fire-light plays. 

For fancies past and future dwell 
Where shines the ruddy blaze; 
i8 



Aloft, In our dreaming, 
Air castles are gleaming, 
Alight with lambent rays. 

Now when the long cold nights begin, 
Near to the fire-place wide, 

We sit, when ev'en-light creeps in. 
Its cosy hearth beside, 
Close by the bright ingle 
And hear the wind mingle 
With sleet and snow outside. 



THE SPINET 

On the tinkling notes, and faint, 

Of the spinet old and quaint. 

Once pretty hands oft lighty strayed. 

Coaxing gentle melodies. 

From the slender ivory keys, 

In days when dainty tunes were played. 

In frock of dimity bedight. 

Of a fashion then the height. 

Perchance, some maid, demure and slim 

Practiced here a canzonet. 

Or a graceful minuet, 

In studied measure, queer and prim. 

Now untouched the keys lie hid ; 
Silence sleeps beneath the lid. 
And the voiceless spinet seems 
Haunted with refrains of song. 
That to other days belong 
And eloquent of olden dreams. 



19 



THE GARDEN 

Oh, just at dusk, in chorused din. 
The garden crickets loud begin. 
Where busy, gloaming spiders spin 
Their balconies of webbing thin, 

Soft, faery lace, 

In many a place. 
The grasses twining, out and in. 

The "four o'clocks" are milky white. 
Ghostly in the blue of night. 
Tremulous with life's delight, 
The garden border making bright. 

And to and fro, 

The white moths go. 
Among the blooms, in wandering flight. 

THE DREAMS 

Their whereabouts we do not know. 
So soft they come, so still they go. 

The dreams; 
A mist enfolds them where they stray, 
So dusky shadowed, far away. 

It seems. 

There dwell no reasons, where they are, 
There is no near, nor any far. 

Nor where; 
All happens any way or how. 
The past and future, both are now. 

Off there. 

And gliding down night's silent steep 
They w^ander to the realms of sleep. 

And tell 
The wonders of that Dreamland fair, 
Of long-lost thoughts and fancies, where 

They dwell. 

20 



A MEMORY 

When sunset tapers, flickering dim, 

Die out before the moon, 
I dream I hear the evening hymn, 

With all its rhythmic tune, 
The ocean utters at its brim 

On some still afternoon. 

It comes from where marsh grasses stand. 
Touched into wands of gold, 

Where glow the sea and yellow strand, 
With mystic light untold, 

Until seems all the shadowy land 
Some faery world of old. 

It floats across the cliffs of brown 
Where flight the sea-gull stays, 

And softly goes a-singing down 
The quiet, winding ways 

Within that quaint and olden town 
Of unforgotten days. 

And, ere the first soft stars are lit, 

On night winds, as they flee, 
The song, as I remember it. 

Seems drifting up to me 
From where the sleepy white gulls sit 

And brood beside the sea 



AT FIVE O'CLOCK 

At five o'clock in winter, 

When dusk makes day-beams flee. 
Then at her tiny table 

Fair Elizabeth pours tea. 
21 



Antique is her tea-table, 

Of rose-wood all a-shine, 
Wrought o'er with golden trimmings, 

Of curious design. 

A flowered square upon it 

Of snowy damask lies, 
And there the brazen kettle 

Gives forth its humming sighs. 

Rare spoons are there, Florentine, 
Frail cups from lands afar, 

Whence floats the fragrant incense 
From quaint Japonica. 

The tinted lamps' soft glimmer 

A glamour throws about, 
But leaves in dusk the corners, 

Where shadows dark creep out. 

Faint glows the lamp Pompeiian, 

And wonder falls on me. 
What did Pompeii's maidens 

At five o'clock for tea? 

Thus dreams of other ages 
In present time are caught. 

And vagrant fancies wander 
Across the path of thought. 

At five o'clock in winter. 

How oft I go to see. 
Beside her tiny table, 

Fair Elizabeth pour tea. 



22 



SPRING'S CARNIVAL 

When smiles the spring-tide of the year, 
How murmurous are the winds that blow ! 
The daffodil and crocus glow — 

The tender blades of grass appear. 

In even furrows, side by side, 

The steaming earth lies rich and brown, 
The life-inspiring sun sends down 

A warmth of gold-light far and wide. 

The tearful showers that hide the run. 
But fall in silver drops a space — 
Then gold and azure take their place, 

So quickly is the soft rain done. 

For waking from their dreamless sleep — 
Earth's children in the quickening air, 
In joy uprising everywhere, 

The carnival of spring-tide keep. 

VIOLET 

My sweet one wore all tied about 

Her hair a kerchief blue ; 
Her eyes upon the sea looked out. 

When twilight shadows grew; 
The new moon slid down toward the sea 

Against the paled sunset, 
As on the old dock watched for me 
Fair V^iolet. 

The night wind made a cheery din, 

The water rippled low, 
And swift my boat came sailing in 

Amid the purple glow; 
The slim, young moon dropped to the sea; 

One silver tip was wet; 
23 



Still on the old dock watched for me 
Dear Violet. 

My sweet one wore all tied about 

Her hair a kerchief blue ; 
So pure her face no heart could doubt 

She steadfast was and true, 
The sickle moon fell in the sea; 

My love's my own eyes met ; 
And now she ever is to me 
My Violet. 

MY GRANDFATHER'S SCRAP-BOOK 

It was a day when on the pane 

The wild wind dashed the tireless rain, 

And brawling grew the brook, 
That, in the attic, on a quest. 
Obeying fancy's odd behest, 
I found within an ancient chest 

My grandfather's scrap-book. 

A gabled window dimly flung 

A soft light where the cobwebs hung. 

Within a corner nook. 
And there, within the shadows gray. 
Beneath imagination's sway, 
I lived, in thought, the vanished day 

Of grandfather's scrap-book. 

I gazed on many a gay vignette. 
And faces cut in silhouette. 

With quaint, old-fashioned look, — 
On pictured ladies, fair and slim, 
And dainty verses faded dim, 
With sentiments so sweet and prim 

In grandfather's scrap-book. 

24 



Amid the relics oft I spied, 
Souvenirs of family pride, 

That of the past partook, — 
Some scion honored by his land 
Remembered here, or in fine hand 
7"he autograph of some one grand, 

In grandfather's scrap-book. 

The hours, beguiling, grew apace, 
And I forgot the time and place, 

And seemed to hear, oddzook! 
A-pealing through the dusk, eft soon, 
A merry, stately, old dance tune. 
And clack and tread of high-heeled shoon. 

Near grandfather's scrap-book. 

So dreamed I, till, all hushed the rain, — 
Till through a tiny, dusty pane 

A trembling star-ray shook. 
And misty shadows, gathering, rose 
Around my visioned belles and beaux. 
And told me it was time to close 

My grandfather's scrap-book. 



25 



THE LIGHT-SHIP 

I am the light-ship, and long and grim ; 

Where the landsman sees me in the distance dim, 

I swing at anchor, with the tides, off-shore. 

By a perilous reef, where the waves break hoar. 

Aye at my post. 

Foul weather or fine. 
Reef-sentinel, of the great ship-line, 

A solemn duty mine. 

To-night, as the gray of the mist folds in. 
Swathing the waters in cerements thin, 
While shrill, down the wind, pipes the petrel's cry, 
And hurtling around me the sea-birds fly, 
I keep my post. 
For weal or for woe. 
Reef-sentinel, and the great ships know, 
In passing to and fro. 

And the dark falls here, full of sound, yet lone. 
With the moving of waters, and winds that moan, 
As I rock in the trough of the rolling sea, — 
Lo, I heed not the wuld monotony. 
Aye at my post, 
While the strong waves leap. 
Reef-sentinel, where black dangers sleep, 
A tireless watch I keep. 

Through the shadows that lie on sea and strand, 
Now beckon me, soft, sister lights in land. 
And I flash repl)^, aloft from my spars. 
Where the twin lights gleam like prisoned stars. 
Aye at my post. 
Foul weather or fine, 
Reef-sentinel, of the great ship-line, 
A solemn duty mine. 
26 



WHERE FIELDS LIE WHITE 

Where fields lie white beneath the snow 

The grasses sleep, 
Here cold wild winds of winter blow, 
Yet, soon, will April rain-drops weep 
And happy sea-born breezes go. 
Singing landward, soft and low, 
Where fields He white beneath the snow. 

Still listening for the call they know 

Life's mysteries are. 
Here by the waters' ebb and flow. 
Yet, soon, each grass-blade scimitar 
Shall taper, slim, toward skies that glow, 
In joyance waving, to and fro. 
Where fields lie white beneath the snow. 

ROSES 

Perchance you may have met my love 

A-wandering down some country lane, 
When all the sky was blue above, 
And sunlight fell in golden rain. 
And roses here. 
And roses there. 
Along the path bloomed everywhere. 

Perchance you looked into her eyes. 

Like violets, all purple-deep. 
And tender as the twilight skies. 

So luminous with thoughts they keep. 
Where roses sweet. 
With mystic spell. 
In drifting showers of petals fell. 



27 



My love, perchance, j^ou may have met, 

I have but seen her in a dream, 
A face with eyes of violet; 

Ah, still to me most real they seem, 
Those roses here 
And roses there, 
That by her path bloomed everywhere. 



A PICTURE 

This is the woodland way, 
Silvery tumbles the fall, 

Dim.ming the lovely glade. 

Trees that are gnarled and tall. 

Rays of the sun-light's sheen, 
Stray to the bosky nook, 

Gleam on the mosses green. 
Dance on the rippling brook. 

Lo! neath the bough's dark reach, 
A nymph glads the dusky light. 

Straight as the sapling beech. 
Fair in her robe of white. 

Hair, as the ripe grain, gold. 
Shines on the graceful head ; 

Eyes of a hue untold; 
Lips like an arch of red. 

Here, in the autumn day. 
Lost in the past I seem ; 

Forgotten the woodland way. 
And in my heart a dream. 



28 



THE CHARM 

A wee and bonny maiden, 

With rosy cheeks aglow, 
Whose thoughts were fancy-laden, 

And eyes black as the sloe, 
Once spied a four-leaf clover. 

And hid it in her shoe, 
A charm, e'er day was over, 

To bring her lover true. 

And when the sun went drifting 
Down in the golden west, 

Her happy eyes uplifting, 

Saw some one she loved best; 

While smiles came all unbidden, 

She murmurred, "Is it you! 

How did you know I'd hidden 
That clover in my shoe?" 



29 



SNOW FANCIES 

Now the grey lights dull the sky, 

Thro' the air, 

Every-where, 
Down the fleecy snow-flakes fly. 

Starry shapes, that sway and shift 

Fleetly whirl, 

Swiftly twirl, 
Hither, thither, as they drift. 

When to watch them we begin. 

In the gloom. 

They assume 
Forms fantastic as they spin — 

Fairy fabrics do they seem, 

Made of mist. 

Blown atwist 
Lightsome as an airy dream. 

Flowers fashioned for a fay, 

Ice-spun rare, 

Clusters fair 
Filling all the shadowed day — 

Crystal barques where pixies ride, 

Lo they float. 

Like a mote. 
On the air's pellucid tide. 

Filmy flake of fret-work fine, 
Beauty fraught. 
Thou wert wrought 

By a Master-hand divine. 



30 



THE GARDEN I LOVE BEST 

One big star shone 

In the primrose sky. 
In the primrose sky of the west; 

To a lullaby 
Had the bird-songs grown 
In the garden I love the best. 

In the garden that stretches down to the sea, 

To the whispering sedge 

At the water's edge, 
Where the wind creeps lonesomely. 

One big red rose 

In the garden grew, 
Blossoming grew, down by the sea ; 

I gave it you, 
At the evening's close. 
And you gave your heart to me. 

In the garden that stretches down to the sea, 

To the whispering sedge 

At the water's edge. 
Where the wind creeps lonesomely. 

The big star shone 

Its glow in your eyes, 
The red rose lay on your breast ; 

'Neath the primrose skies 
We were alone. 
In the garden I love the best. 

In the garden that stretches down to the sea, 

To the whispering sedge 

At the water's edge. 
Where the wind creeps lonesomely. 

31 



"^ A LULLABY 

Hark, the song the silver rain, 
Sings against the window pane, 
Sings so sweet and soft and low, 
Sings while twilight shadows grow 
A little tune to "go-to-sleep," 
While the tiny rain-drops keep 
Falling from the evening sky 
In lullaby, in lullaby. 

Hark, the way the trees reply, 
To the rain-drops drifting by. 
'Tis a drowsy, crooning, heart! 
Listen how it whispers near. 
Near and nearer seems to creep, 
A little tune to '*go-to-sleep;" 
So at night the trees reply. 
To the rain-drops drifting by. 

Through the twilight comes a dream, 
And the countless rain-drops seem, 
Every one a silver bead. 
Slipping down a shining reed. 
Making through the shadowy deep, 
A little song of "go-to-sleep," 
Falling from the evening sky. 
In lullaby, in lullaby. 

A LULLABY 

The yellow moon 

Rides high, rides high, 
A whistling tune 
Across the sky 
The chill wind sings ; 
And, to and fro, 
Within the dusk 
The branches blow. 
32 



This cold, pale night! 

Its filmy lace 
The hoar frost, white, 
Hath come to trace 
Upon the pane; 

And, to and fro, 
A-tossing high. 
The branches blow. 

Roses are fair, 

'Neath Dreamland skies, 
And blooming there. 

Blue as thy eyes. 
The violet buds ; 

Here, to and fro. 

With cold acreak 
The branches blow. 

Then give thy hand 

To some dream, sweet. 
In slumber land 

'T will guide thy feet 
On happy ways; 

Now, to and fro. 
In ghostly way 
The branches blow. 

Oh! jewel star, 

In evening set, 
So still and far, 

A dream hath met 
My baby now; 

And, to and fro, 
With lullaby, 
The branches blow. 



33 



A LULLABY 

Ho laddie ! how the stars dance out, 
Amid the dark that's all about. 

There is no doubt 
Tonight they hold a merry rout, 
Ho laddie! how the stars dance out. 

Hist laddie ! hear the night wind blow, 
An eerie tune it seems to throw. 

The wild notes go 
Along the night, now loud now low. 
Hist laddie, hear the night wind blow. 

Hi laddie! don't you see him creep, 
The sand-man, up the shadowed steep. 

So cool and deep, 
To bring you fairy gifts of sleep ? 
Hi laddie! don't you see him creep? 

Hush laddie, now the night wind sings, 
And hours drift by on dusky wings, 

While star-light flings 
Its silver sheen and sweet dreams brings. 
Hush laddie, now the night wind sings. 



34 



THE COMING OF THE SHEPHERDS 

Madonna, Madonna, 

The night-dark was lone; 
The birds long had nested. 

The beasts preyward gone; 
Over hill, over valley. 

The wind softly beat, 
Through the shadow and hush. 

With hurrying feet. 

Madonna, Madonna, 

While weary earth slept, 
On the field of Judea 

Our night-watch we kept. 
And Syria's sky 

Was gemmed as of old 
With the hosts of the stars 

That gleamed on the fold. 

Madonna, Madonna, 

An angel most bright, 
Lo! poured down around us 

The splendor of light; 
Fear fell on our hearts. 

In the glory he made; 
But spake us the angel: 

"Be thou not afraid." 

Madonna, Madonna, 

Glad tidings he told, 
About us forgotten. 

The night, and the cold. 
Where, radiant, sudden, 

A fair angel throng 
Filled the listening air 

With raptures of song. 

35 



Madonna, Madonna, 

The night groweth wan ; 
In the east shineth pale 

The star of the dawn ; 
Over hill, over valley, 

Fleeth shadow away. 
And sweet the wind singeth 

As breaketh the day. 

Madonna, Madonna, 

Show us, we pray thee, 
Thy Baby, Divine One, 

We hasted to see. 
And onward, rejoicing. 

To men we will sing 
The birth of the Saviour 

And Israel's king. 



36 



PEGGY'S KERCHIEF 

Yellow, for the passing years 
Have with sere touch dimmed it, 

And the hands are vanished long 
That in the old times trimmed it. 

While a sweet herb's fragrance faint 
Each filmy fold discloses, — 

The muslin kerchief, broidered white, 
With roses. 

'Peggy, she my great, great aunt, 

On gala days to don it. 
With her skilful fingers fleet 

Put broideries upon it. 
And, as other maids, I wis. 

Oft sat with dreamy glances. 
The while, she weaved, 'tween silken stitch, 
Romances. 

When so fine and daintily, 

Flower-broidered, Peggy made it. 

With slender sprigs of lavender 
Away with care she laid it. 

Yet, as springs to summers turned, 
And falls to winters speeded, 

Soft, fold on fold, the kerchief lay 
Unheeded. 

But, as a spring-tide blossom dies. 

So Peggy, ere she wore it, 
And with the scent of lavender 

That subtly hovers o'er it. 
Breathing of the years ago. 

All undisturbed reposes 
The muslin kerchief, broidered white, 
With roses. 

37 



MY LADY 

When twilight blue is the west afar, 

And shadows soft are here, 
As the night-sky loves the first, pure star, 

So is my lady to me dear. 

When sparkling down a dusky dell, 

A brook doth crystal flow, 
As through the wild glade speeds the fell. 

My thought doth to my lady go. 

When on the glisten of the seas 

The lightsome winds rejoice, 
As the wavelets leap into the breeze, 

So my heart to my lady's voice. 

When glad spring steps from winter glooms 

To sweeten every place. 
As lovely as the flowery blooms 

Is the look in my lady's face. 

My days with laughter's tune are rife 
Where come not care nor fear: 

More than I liketh my fair life 
So is my lady to me dear. 



38 



A LOVE SONG 

O'er the meadow flower-pied, 

Lightly, fleetly breezes spring ; 
By the winding river-side, 
Soft, the lissome sedges sing 
A quaint love-lilt I fancy. 
Always known to queer old Pan, 
Since the reeds to grow began, 
Hear it, sweet, my Nancy! 

Above us all the arching sky 

Stretches wide its spring-tide blue ; 
Swiftly-darting birds go by, 
Singing blithely, gayly too. 

This quaint love-lilt I fancy. 
Ever cherished since of old 
In their little hearts of gold. 
Hear it, sweet, my Nancy ! 

Pretty one, now it is spring. 

In the carol of the bird 
In the flowers' blossoming 

In the lithe, green sedges heard 

Lo! the quaint love-lilt I fancy. 
That my heart, dear, sings to you, 
With unfaltering cadence true; 
Hear it, sweet, my Nancy ! 



39 



NIGHT 

Across the lonesome sea-flats 

The purple shadows crept; 
In the border-land of marshes 

The lapping waters wept ; 
Soft, in the grasses nested, 

The weary sea-bird slept. 

Beneath the moon the ripples 

Glistened, silver-tipped ; 
The wan white stars were lustreless, 

Where the black horizon dipped. 
Above the darksome meadows, 

Through whose reeds the fire-fly slipped. 

On swept the low-voiced breezes 
That, mocking, laughed and sighed, 

And brushed with wings invisible 
The music of the tide; 

They seemed some souls in grieving. 
Their own grief to deride. 

Beside the moon-lit waters 

The sleeping hamlet lay; 
Still, in the dreamy night-time 

It rested from the day. 
And tender on the dwellings 

Lay the moon-beams' mystic play. 

The light of day is joyful. 

Exultant, in its birth, 
As to the land is sun-warmth. 

So to our life is mirth. 
But on the heart dwells sorrow, 

As moonlight on the earth. 



40 



A spell is weaved of shadows, 

With weird, pale moonlight wrought,- 
A magic spell of silence, — 

And all the night is fraught 
With the poetry of wonder 

And deep and solemn thought. 

A MOON-BEAM 

Where the manor built of olden 
Dreary is beneath the trees, 

Swift the wilding bird on-flitteth, 
Singeth lonesomely the breeze. 

Ever there a sadness reigneth, 
Since a foot-fall on the floors 

No more, like a fairy's, trippeth 
Lightly down the corridors. 

For, in by-gone days, a maiden. 
With her lips a-rift with song. 

And with soft eyes, pansy-purple. 
Stepped the sombre rooms among. 

Whiter than the snow-drop fragile. 
In the old house bloomed her face ; 

Her's the beauty of a moon-beam, 
Silvering some dusky place. 

Few there be who now remember 
The night of winter, long ago. 

When an angel came and bore her 
Far across the fields of snow. 

As a tiny moon-beam, wavering. 
Tarries but awhile at play. 

So the little maid in silence 
Drifted from my life away. 
41 



A NEW YEAR SONG 

The year has vanished ; day by day 

His life scroll was unrolled, 
And now the New Year treads the way, 
Long trodden by the Old, 
The way of joy. 
Without alloy, 
And sorrow too untold. 

The old year puts his burden by. 

The New Year, brave and young 
A burden takes without a sigh. 
With all its songs unsung. 
Its future fears. 
And unshed tears. 
And coming smiles among. 

Old year take with you in your flight, 

The hunger, thirst and fear. 
All power be to the rule of right. 
Let evil disappear, 

Be good fights won, 

New themes begun, 

In this glad coming year. 



42 



CHLOE 

Out in the orchard, 
The bent old apple tree, 
Weighted, 

And white-freighted, 
A-flutter seems to be. 
As amid the branches 
The wind sings merrily. 

Out in the orchard. 

So fair beneath its shade. 
Smiling, 
And beguiling. 
She watches sunset fade. 
Pretty little Chloe, 

A dainty, gold-haired maid. 

Out in the orchard, 

As dark the shadows loom, 
Rifted 

By the drifted 
Soft starlight through the gloom, 
I kiss pretty Chloe 

Beneath the apple-bloom. 



43 



PHYLLIS 

Thine are the eyes that I love, 

Phyllis, my beauty, my fair — 
Gray as the wing of a dove. 

Brushing the silver dawn air 
Down in their wildering deeps. 

Wonderful tenderness lies; 
Cupid, the elf, only sleeps, 

Phyllis, my fair, in your eyes. 

Thine are the eyes to me dear, 

Phyllis, so dainty and fine. 
Where merry witcheries peer. 

Wells of the spirit's sunshine. 
Swift as a star's golden beam, 

The glance of sweet coquetry flies, 
Airy as gossamer dream, 

Phyllis, my fair, from your eyes. 

Though fades the sun's dazzling light. 

Dimming the azure of day. 
Sunshine will never take flight 

Afar from those orbs, perfect gray. 
Fortune her favor may take. 

Whither her fickle will flies. 
Could I, the elf, Cupid wake, 

Phyllis, my fair, in your eyes. 



44 



A PINCH OF SNUFF 

Oh, let us sing, 

Those times sedate, 
When, long ago, 

With air of state, 
The cavalier, 

Courtly and grand, 
A box of snuff, 

Bore in his hand. 

A silken suit. 

The gallant wore. 
Buckles agleam. 

Gold lace galore, 
A powdered wig. 

Quaint frills and ruff, 
Wondrous his mien, 

With box of snuff. 

Perchance of gold, 

This trifle fine. 
With jewelled lid. 

Of rich design, 
A dainty box, 

Not out of place, 
Held in the style, 

Of golden grace. 

How sadly changed, 

These present days ! 
Prosaic are. 

The modes and ways, 
No gallant more 

Dons wig and ruff. 
Or takes with joy, 

A pinch of snufl. 

45 



HER GARDEN 

Oh, yellow gleams the daffodil, 

In the garden over the way! 
There the sun-beams dance at will; 

The winds coquette at play ; 

'Tis the garden sweet of Tabitha Gray. 

Tabitha Gray is tall and fair, 

With cheeks like a June-tide rose; 

A golden shine glints in her hair; 
A tint in her curved lip flows. 
As red as the crimson cherry glows. 

Dark as the deep of wood-land pool. 
Where the clear, brown shadow lies, 

Glistening in a fern-dell cool. 

Is the light of her wonderful eyes. 
Where tenderness with laughing vies. 

Now that the sun glides off to rest. 
And the fresh, soft breezes stray 

From the beauty of the west. 
Would I were over the way. 
In the garden sweet of Tabitha Gray! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Long years ago by Avon side 
A youth fared in the summer-tide. 
When golden sunshine poured its sheen 
Across the flowery fields of green 

Where nature wove a tapestry 
Along the path, that smiled between 

Quaint Stratford town and Shottery. 



46 



A comely youth, one fair of face, 
In sinew strong, and lithe with grace, 
For whom the land was vision-strown 
With pageants, as he strayed alone 

With dreams, his company, the way, 
Claiming a thought-world as his own. 

Where lightning chains of fancy play. 

The good folk of old Stratford town. 
Caught betwixt a laugh and frown, 
Mayhap would mutter, with a sigh : 
Mayhap would mutter, with a sigh: 
"Yon wild Will Shakespeare passeth by. 

Beshrew the lad, where hastes he now? 
Mischief hath home within his eye, 

A saint's look lodges on his brow." 

Long, long hath thou been gone, rare Will, 
Yet ever wondrous memories thrill 
About your place, now you are dead ; 
Glad field and wood that knew your tread. 

Whose foot was fleetest on the down 
And in the dance, so gayly sped 

The lightest heart in Stratford town. 

Ho, traveller! who hast suffered much, 
By Avon bow, for with a touch 
This Shakespeare painted grief of soul; 
He knew joy's depth, gay pleasure's role, 

And folly's evanescent gleam; 
True inspiration lit the scroll 

Whereon he wrote life's passing dream. 



47 



THE EARLY MIST 

When paling stars their soft rays throw, 

And winds their matins sing, 
When faintly gleams the opal glow 

That skies of morning bring — 
Then little mists arise from sleep, 

By gentle breezes fanned, 
And moving as the sea-birds sweep, 

They wander toward the land. 

They float above the meadows brown, 

So sheer and wan and white. 
And there they softly settle dow^n. 

Aweary with their flight. 
When East shines with a golden rift, 

Again they gently flee. 
And with the tints of dawning drift 

Across the silver sea. 



48 



A GARDEN 

In a fragrant garden, 

Filled with radiant bloom, 

Dance the ragged sailors. 

Waves the cockscomb's plume; 

Here ablaze with color, 

A tall and stately row. 
Stand like gaudy sentinels. 

The hollyhocks ablow. 

On the brier-roses. 

Swing those murmurous guests, 
Laden bees a-crooning. 

On their honey quests; 

Mid the gay nasturtiums, 

Hither, thither dart. 
Linger, musing lowly, 

On the bleeding-heart. 

Doris, of the blossoms 

Is weaving a bouquet. 
Sprigged with coriander, 

And slim, fennel spray. 

From this quaint old garden, 

Where, as long ago, 
Stand, like gaudy sentinels 

The hollyhocks ablow. 



49 



HER RUFF 

She smiles at me 
So prettily, 

Above her ruff, 
Made dainty white, 
Of silken, light 

And gauzy stuff. 

Her dimpled chin 
Is nested in 

The filmy lace; 
A rosebud blow, 
Enshrined in snow, 

Her flower-face. 

Oft in the dance 
She darts a glance 

From mirth-lit eyes — 
A Cupid's dart, 
Tipped with love's smart, 

That careless flies. 

So sweet and fair, 
Why should she care ? 

It is enough, 
She smiles at me 
So prettily, 

Above her ruff. 



50 



AN OLD SONG 

The first love is the best love, 

And through the changing years, 
Wherever I may wander, 

My first love's face appears. 
Within the shrine of memory 

No other face may rest 
Upon my heart as hers does — 

"The first love is the best." 

The first love is the best love; 

No other voice as sweet 
Comes softly with fond cadences 

My happy ears to greet, 
As hers, with accents tender, 

That once my name caressed. 
Dear heart, still unforgotten — 

"The first love is the best." 

The first love is the best love, 

O sweetheart, dear to me. 
Who, by my side unfaltering. 

Hast kept so faithfully; 
When in my face you smiling look. 

Your eyes make manifest 
That rare, true song of days of old : 

"The first love is the best." 



51 



ROSE BUSH LANE 

When Grandma was a girl, 

This fashionable street, 
With all its life and whirl. 

Was hedged with roses sweet, 
And here, where our house stands, 

The homestead, big and plain. 
Amid the meadow lands. 

Stood near the Rose Bush Lane. 

With heart of love and cheer. 

One gladsome summer day. 
Grandma, a bride, came here. 

Among the roses gay. 
And from the leafy trees 

Rang many a lightsome strain 
Of song-bird melodies, 

Adrift down Rose Bush Lane. 

In that time, long ago. 

How calm life was, and fair. 
Till the town began to grow. 

And take a modern air ; 
Then Grandpa sold, by lot. 

The fields where waved the grain. 
Keeping the garden plot 

And house on Rose Bush Lane. 

Grandmother says: "Time brings 

A wondrous change, 'tis true, 
But garlands that it flings 

Oft mingled are with rue," 
Then to her eye the tear 

Comes, for a subtle pain 
Unknown to Grandma dear 

In days of Rose Bush Lane. 

52 



Some time, she shuts her eyes, 

I think to picture there 
A summer's smiling skies, 

Wild roses everywhere. 
With tender memory, 

To live where day dreams reign, 
Happy again to be 

At home on Rose Bush Lane. 



OLD SONGS 

The songs, the oldest ever sung. 

Were heard in days when Earth was young; 

The tender matins of the morn. 
The time the rosy clouds are born. 

The louder strains that fill the sky, 
When day, the victor, rides on high; 

Those soft, sweet tones, at close of day, 
The even-song when skies grow gray ; 

And Time has never changed a note. 
But let them in their freedom float. 

These old, old songs of long ago — 
The oldest melodies we know. 



53 



'T IS EVENING 

'T Is evening time, the harbor lies 
Bare at ebb tide; the setting sun, 

A crimson ball, sinks' down and dies, 
And day, the busy day, is done. 

While landward, in the growing night, 

The sea-mist creeps in ghostly white. 

'T is evening time; the crimson glow 
Has faded from the meadows wide, 

O'er which the wintry wind mourns low, 
Slow waiting for the rising tide; 

And twilight in her misty cloak 

Has wrapped the stars, ere they awoke. 

'T is evening time, my pretty Rose 
Is singing while she thinks of me ; 

Is singing in the twilight's close. 
For I am coming from the sea. 

Out of the dark, where white mist lies, 

Into the star-shine of her eyes. 



54 



NOVEMBER 

November's fields He brown and sere, 

When fall the first few snow flakes white, 

And through the trees the wind's voice drear 
Bewails the darkly drooping year, 

The summer days — whose happy light 
Had vanished, ere the frosty blight. 

November brings the historied feast, 
In memory of that long-gone year. 

When anguished hearts their sorrow ceased. 
And thankful saw their store increased, 

When on their sight the ship drew near 
That changed their famine into cheer. 

Then think we of the storied past. 

Its earnestness, its toils and tears, 
Whose influence enfolds us fast, — 

Each year an echo of the last. 
While Time the arch of days uprears 

Extending o'er the mist of years. 

What care we though the fields lie sere, 
That night-time brings the frosty blight. 

For winter joys are drawing near 
To glad the waning of the year. 

When ever-hastening snowflakes white 
Bring winter dreams of softer light. 



55 



A LETTER FROM THERESS 

Dainty, fragrant missive white, 
As a weary dove from flight 

Seeks a loved hand's fond caress, 
So you come to me tonight. 

Little letter from Theress! 

Or, as when a golden star 
Sends a trembling beam afar 

From the dusky sky above, 
So you, little letter, are 

As a star-ray from my love. 

Is it strange that, waiting, I 
There unopened let you lie? 

To anticipate is sweet ; 
Just to know that you are by. 

Makes my pulses faster beat. 

And the happy dreams you bring 
Are like melodies of Spring, 

Music breathing tenderness ; 
And within my heart they sing. 

Little letter from Theress. 



S6 



FAIRYLAND 

The twilight hour is full of dreams, 

Magical dreams of fairy-land, 
When Queen Titania's gold wand gleams, 

A gem-tipped star-ray in her hand, 
And on the world is cast a spell, 

From out the night's enchanted deep, 
While pretty tales we softly tell. 

To put the little ones to sleep. 

We watch the wood-queen's silver bark 

Sail slowly up the night-sky sea. 
We list for goblins of the dark, 

A-frolic at their sylvan glee, 
And talk about the moonlit dell. 

Where fairies mystic revels keep, 
While pretty tales we softly tell. 

To put the little ones to sleep. 

A realm lives in each childish heart 

Where dreams and fancies love to stay. 
The land where child-life holds full part. 

Where care and sorrow never stray. 
In this dim land where fairies dwell. 

Through children's eyes we too may peep, 
At twilight's hour, when tales w^e tell. 

To put the little ones to sleep. 



57 



DOROTHY 

The old colonial mansion 
That stands across the way 

Is built in ancient fashion 

With stones moss-grown and gray. 

I see a door-way open, 
And smiling there at me, 

While falls the golden noon-tide, 
Is pretty Derothy. 

She wears a gown of lilac, 

Dainty, flowered silk; 
Above her snowy kerchief. 

Her throat is white as milk. 

I sigh to be a gallant. 

Of those past, wondrous days, 
With queue and wig bepowdered. 

And quaint and courtly ways. 

I'd lift my hat cockaded, 
And bow, with bended knee. 

To humbly sue the favor 
Of Mistress Dorothy. 



58 



THE MINUET 

The minuet — 
There music and the dance coquette, 
And maids with quaint ways and sedate, 
Tread with a mimic air of state 
And steal, perchance, a pirouette. 

A dainty dance. 
Alight with starry eyes aglance. 
That add a bliss most wondrous sweet 
Unto the joy of rhythmic feet. 
And music's tender charm enhance. 

Brave cavaliers 
Here tread a measure with their dears, 
They bend in lowly way ; I trow 
The powdered gallants bended so 
In long agone colonial years. 

The minuet — 
Some such fair scene my eyes have met. 
Of this most courtly, old-time dance. 
Filled with the breath of sweet romance, 
Shown in some lovely, rare vignette. 



59 



THE CHAFING DISH 

It was the early evening gloom, 
The flickering taper's yellow light 

Made golden shadows in the room, 
And on the table polished bright, 

When Polly, with her sibyl eyes, 
A sweeter lassie none could wish. 

Brewed in a way demurely wise. 
Rich dainties in the chafing dish. 

Her frock was brave with furbelows, 
Such as in pictures quaint we see. 

Of maids who ruffles donned and bows 
With witching arts of coquetry. 

A music weird the flames sang low. 
The dish seemed tiny caldron fine, 

Above the mimic fire's soft glow, 
Its antique silver all ashine. 

As in enchanted years of old 

Were philters steeped in mystic way. 
By Circes fair, with locks of gold. 

Love potions wielding magic sway. 

So Polly, at the fall of night, 

With wondrous secret none may tell. 
Brewed her rare potions of delight, 

And charmed us with a fairy spell. 



60 



MY LADY'S SHOES 

Tiny shoes of satin white, 
Speeding airy as the light 

Thistledown, 
Blithely in the dance you keep 
Merry measure, as you peep 

From her gown. 

Such a taper tip and trim, 
Pointed heel atilt and slim. 

Gems galore, 
Had that wondrous storied mite, 
Cinderella, lost that night. 

Long of yore. 

Never with a fleeter tread 
Fair nymph's silver sandals sped 

On the sea; 
Flew no fairy's golden shoon 
Daintier beneath the moon 

O'er the lea. 

Poising in a buoyant way, 
Oft you twinkle, in a gay 

Pirouette, 
Or demure, in pretty state, 
Trip you, in a quaint, sedate 

Minuet. 

To the music, in and out, 
Softly gliding all about, 

At her will, 
Till, at last, in grace you rest 
On a cushion's velvet nest, 

And are still. 



6i 



THE EVENING STAR 

The decks are gray and the houses brown, 
Quaint gabled windows the low roofs crown, 
And the evening star looks kindly down. 
As it gleams on the sea and shines on the town. 

My true love sails, through the night, afar, 
Beyond the sound of the harbor bar. 
Away from the sight of cliff and scar, 
As he follows the light of the evening star. 

I send him a kiss on the winds ablow. 
That, sweeping seaward, untiring go. 
And the evening star alone shall know. 
As it beams on the sea and the town below. 



AN AUTUMN SONG 

When days are weaved of dreamful light, 
The leaves are waving, red and gold, 
Lo! from the trees, in hosts untold, 
Like oriflammes of Autumn bright, 
Along the path of Summer's flight 
Their farewells flutter manifold. 
When days are weaved of dreamful light. 
And leaves are waving red and gold. 

The crickets chant their music trite. 
Quaint, black-robed singers, as of old. 
And in dim, grass cathedrals hold. 
At eve, the masses of the night, — 
When days are weaved of dreamful light. 



62 



ROSEMARY 

By the margin of the sea, 

At dusk, the sedge is whispering, 
Where the slim, sprigged rosemary, 
In its purple clustering, 
Blossometh, 
And, light and free, 
Sea-winds make a melody. 

Shadows come from out the wood. 

And purple on the water lie. 
Tender as the evening's mood 
While the far-off ships go by 
Silently, 
And, like to these. 
So dim, so still, my memories. 

Thought, beneath the evening skies, 
Recalls sometime forgotten things, 
And, while soft, blue twilight dies. 
Dreams cherished once again it brings, 
Wanderers 
From other skies, 
That haunt us with remembered eyes. 

By the margin of the sea. 

At dusk, the sedge is whispering, 
And subtle sweetness seems to be 
All about me hovering. 
Memories 
That wake for me. 
In perfume of the rosemary. 



63 



THE GYPSY ROSE 

Gray cottage, moss-grown, 

Low on the hill. 
Just as in past days, 

Now you are still; 
In your trim garden 

Lavender grows. 
Spikenard and lilies, 

And gypsy rose. 

Near you are humming 

Gold-banded bees ; 
Bird songs are drifting 

Down from the trees ; 
Wafting a fragrance, 

Sweet, the wind blows, 
Kissing the witching. 

Wild gypsy rose. 

Did the wee fairies 

Down in the dell, 
Gray cottage, moss-grown, 

Weave a love-spell 
Drawing me to you ? 

Ah ! my heart knows. 
Home of fair Margary, 

My gypsy rose. 



A PURITAN 

In the colonial days 

Lived little puritan Prue ; 
Demure were her quiet ways, 
Her eyes as robin's eggs blue, 
And her wee, dainty chin 
Had a dimple therein. 

Her cloak, in the light wind blown. 

Discovered her kerchief neat, 
Where a sprig of berries shone. 
Of frost-kissed bitter-sweet. 
As she hastened along. 
With a psalm for a song. 

Fair as a flower her face, 

With cheeks of a pinken glow. 
The puritan hood gave grace 
To this quaint maid long ago. 
With its bow primly tied, 
'Neath her round chin beside. 

I wis, some young cavalier. 

In suit of the sober brown. 
With countenance stern and severe 
Beneath his hat's tall crown. 
Loved the puritan Prue, 
With the bright eyes of blue. 



65 



A REQUEST 

Because I love you 
You tread the castle of my dreams; 
No sunrise gleams, 
No mornings break, 
No twilights die. 
Nor star awake, 
But you are by. 

Because I love you, 
With joy my life's each hour thrills! 
While down the hills 
I watch the sun. 
Then shadows steal ; 
To you, each one. 
My thoughts all kneel. 

Because I love you, 
What gain can fame or riches be 
Save you love me? 
What greater worth 
Could I have chose ? 
I ask of earth 
One only rose. 



66 



A VALENTINE 

These fair blossoms sweet, 

That I send today, 
Tell you, little maid, 

What I long to say. 
To their whisper low 

May your heart incline. 
On this festival 

Of Saint Valentine. 

Violet and rose, 

Rose and violet, 
Tell you, little maid, 

I shall not forget ; 
For this message, pray 

Grant a smile of thine. 
On this festival 

Of Saint Valentine. 

Tell the violet, 

Violet so blue, 
Tell it, little maid, 

You will aye be true; 
Tell it to the rose. 

Blushing red as wine. 
On this festival 

Of Saint Valentine. 



67 



OLD CHINA 

Fragile is this china old, 

And treasured from the days gone by, 
Dreamful thoughts about It fold. 

Above It light-winged fancies fly. 

Lo, the quaint designs that show 
The handiwork of art antique; 

The style of centuries ago. 

These strangely fashioned shapes, bespeak. 

On the surface, fair to see. 

The slender gilded trimmings twine. 

In a dainty tracery, 

The graceful leafage of a vine, 

Many changing years have flown, 
With all their sad and joyful days. 

Since sweet Katherine called her own 
This china strewn with golden sprays. 

Time has waved his magic wand. 
To weave the spell that aye endears. 

And the china now has donned 
The fair enchantment of the years. 



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BITTER-SWEET 

Bending the gray boughs of trees, 
With sorrow-haunting melodies, 

The wind within the wood 
Lo, alternate, sobs and sighs, 
Then, hushing, into stillness dies. 

Where the forest shadows lay, 
Freely there the sun-beams play. 

Ghost-like in their pallid light. 
Stilly, wavering to and fro, 
Wraiths of summer's golden glow. 

Under foot the crisping leaves 
Rustle where the soft wind grieves. 
Minding us of dreams that lived 
Long ago, once, in the prime 
Of hope's happy summer time. 

Here, where tangled briar and vine, 
Sere and leafless, clambering twine, 

In its beauty shining forth. 
Cheerily, with smiles, we greet, 
The blushing, frost-kissed bitter-sweet. 

Now the paths of flowers are bare 
That were erst- while gay and fair ; 
This fall berry, crimson bright, 
To us, wistful, somehow brings 
Trends of thought which gladden things. 

In this wondrous, lonely place, 

The wood, where late dwelt summer's grace, 

In silentness we mediate. 
While joy and sorrow, side by side. 
In our heart with peace abide. 

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O season, whose touch changeth all, 
Sad, tender, dreamful time of fall, 

To the heart thy voice doth speak ; 
For such hours words are not meet ; 
Thy symbol is the bitter-sweet. 



VESPERTIME 

Now, dark first dims the meadow-marsh. 
The wind in gustful music sighs; 

It spurns the reedy grasses harsh, 
And, like a tireless spirit, flies 

Unseen, across the evening skies. 
The solitary skies. 

And wind-swayed, anchored fishing-boats 

Shine each a lantern, eerily, 
Whose mirrored gleam, lo, dips and floats 

Upon the wave, and seems to be 
A fallen star, caught, in the sea, 

A star dropped to the sea. 

Mysterious breath — Oh, life of night ! 

The dreamful gloaming's subtlest part. 
From earth to heaven taking flight. 

Coming from the twilight's heart. 
Love-song to the stars thou art, 

Oh, wind of night, thou art. 



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FALL TIDE 

The brown leaves down the path-way blow, 
In aimless eddying to and fro, 

And today. 
The wide, soft sky looks sad and gray, 
While chirping, in the fading grass. 
The cricket greets us, as we pass. 

The wind, with sorrow in its tone. 
Sobs on, with muffled sigh and moan, 

Where once grew 
The gaudy flowers that it knew ; 
The house around its chill breaths fold, 
Whispering: the days grow cold. 

The birds are gone on southward wing. 
But memory is echoing 

In the heart 
Their merry notes, that seem a part. 
Of summer days, so sweet and long. 
That followed in the flight of song. 

As through some drear, deserted hall, 
Down w^oodland path our foot-steps fall ; 

Thought alone 
Haunts where joyous life was known, — 
Thought that tells us silently 
The touch of death is mystery. 

Oh, fall-tide day! how oft you seem 
The emblem of a vanished dream, 

When our mood 
Seeks the spell of solitude. 
In some still spot, where we may be 
Alone, and dwell with reverie. 



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MELODIES 

O listener, tarrying the bloom-strewn paths among, 
Lo, there for you are rare strains sung, 

Where nature voices all her mysteries. 

Wind, stream, and flower-born melodies. 

Amid the flowers is silent music made. 

That floats in perfume through the glade, — 

A wondrous harmony, that none may know. 
And lives but where the flowers blow. 

And tuneful whispers through the grasses sing, 
Where light and shade their changes fling ; 

A laughter music purls along the stream. 
Where quivering ripples dance and gleam. 

Then list the music of a flawless art. 

That speaks to every human heart. 
That drifts adown the sweet, wild, wooded ways. 

The passing songs of summer days. 

Full soon the lavish nature songs are sung. 

That now across the heart are flung, 
And there be none that touch the soul like these. 

Wind, stream, and flower-born melodies. 



n 



MISTRESS MARY'S WEDDING APRON 

On Mistress Mary's wedding day, 

In the old colonial time, 
Sweet, the gardens were, and gay. 

Blooming, in their fragrant prime. 

They tell me roses were ablow, 

Making pink the country-side, 
In those hedges, long ago, 

Fitting for so fair a bride. 



I wis, the birds began to sing. 

When Mary to her marriage stepped, 
A vision, radiant of the spring, 

As down the quaint old hall she swept. 

And o'er her grand frock, daintily. 
In housewife fashion, fair of old. 

She wore an apron, brave to see. 

Embroidered, all, in pink and gold. 

The years, with tender touch and light. 
Have brushed its satins golden hue. 

The broidered roses still keep quite. 
Their first deep blush tint, too. 

Oh, relic rich in family lore, 

What pride of ancestry you bring 

Through generations passed before; 
You almost seem a living thing. 

A gathered wealth of old romance 
Enfolds you with ancestral thought. 

The old-time beauty to enhance, 
As moonlight in a soft mist caught. 



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And storied memories ever seem, 
That cluster round a dear heir-loom, 

A fragrance, faint, as in a dream. 

Of flowers that fade, no more to bloom. 

THE CHARTER OAK 

Time's thronging shadows, gather fast 
About the deeds of storied years ; 

The fact that lived in sacred past, 
Now as a legend re-appears. 

A lofty oak up-reared its head. 

With stately branches spreading wide; 

To this the red-man pointing, said, 
*To us it is a silent guide. 

That shows us that the spring draws near. 
For when its tender leaves are born — 

No larger than the grey-mouse ear — 
It then is time to plant the corn. 

Oh, white man, let our totem be 
And let the listening Indian hark 

Unto its w^hispering boughs and see 

Its opening buds — the spring-tide mark! 

And so the old tree held its place, 
And felt the seasons ebb and flow, 

As stalwart as the conquering race 
Beneath its boughs — a passing show. 

Until at last, it chanced to be 
A safe that guarded, as if gold. 

The charter of our liberty — 

In those grand, earnest days of old. 

Around the red man memories fold ; 
Across the past his shadow wan 

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Flits on, to silence untold, 

Long since ; the old tree too has gone, — 

For though, by Nature's ruthless hand 
Forever was Its head laid low ; 

Its story, on Time's way will stand, 
A mile-stone, while the ages go. 

THE MARSH MALLOWS 

Down In the meadow 

Binding the edge. 
Rosy marsh mallows 

Grows in the sedge. 

Light In the sea winds 

Fragile cups blow. 
Poising, like butterflies, 

Rocked to and fro. 

Lithe reeds among them, 

Tall lances lace, 
Swaying together 

In rhythmical grace. 

Down in the meadow, 

Beneath the blue sky, 
A cloud of pink beauty. 

The marsh mallows lie. 

MENUNKETESETTE RIVER 

Menunketesette, In the hills, 

Welling, is the lucid spring. 
Whence your limpid stream Out-spills 

From its chalice, shimmering. 
In a haunt where ferns grow tall. 

And the red-cupped mosses hide, 
Far above the water fall, 

That drops you down the valley side. 
75 



River, I have watch you slip 

Onward, slowly to the sea. 
Where the long, lush sedges dip 

At your edges lissomly, 
So peaceful is it at your side. 

To wander from a world of care. 
To feel the calm of meadows wide, 

And breathe the salt breath of the air. 

A melody there is most blest, 

Greater than man's art can give, 
Lightening the heart's unrest, 

And woes, that fill the life we live, 
Where the winds along the grass, 

O river, by you lowly sing 
A whispered music, as they pass. 

To the grasses answering. 

You are fairest, when the day 

Shows you in the dawning light. 
Twining like a ribbon grey. 

Through the fields, where mists hang white. 
Or when on your shifting flow. 

The picture of the new moon lies, 
Wavering, golden, to and fro. 

Where the forest screens the skies. 

At the old bridge, where you swell, 

And give your waters to the deep. 
Some ceaseless harmony you tell 

The restless waves, to which you sweep. 
Is it the song, the wood winds sing, 

The croon of breezes on the lea, 
You heard, and followed listening, 

Through wood and meadow to the sea ? 



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